


Into the Woods

by orphan_account



Series: Into the Woods (TWDG AU) [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/F, F/M, General Trigger Warning, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This town and the woods behind it have secrets bigger than this youth therapy group can manage. And the whole town is oblivious to it.It's unfair that it takes a suicide epidemic to make people start asking questions.It's so fucking unfair.[TWDG AU: modern small town/high school age au][ !! Deals heavily with really dark topics, please look out for trigger warnings at the top of the chapter !! ][HIATUS]





	1. i: The Counting // The Friend

 

**[TW: Underage drinking, mental health issues, repetition, and suicide]**

 

i: The Counting // The Friend

  
_“He takes another moment to wonder how much time has separated him from the beginning."_

//

_“I-I’m going to be a teen parent, strung up in alcohol and house parties to distract myself from my debilitating depressive state.”_

* * *

 

{ _i_ }

 

* * *

 

**Orange Bitch: 2 day(s) ago.**

{Do you ever miss being a kid?}

{I do.}

{I _really_ do.}

 

* * *

 

 

  
Sunday, August 28th, 2016 at 8:01:10 AM   
  
**Nick's Bedroom**

 **  
**   
It's been almost 2 months since it happened.   


Well, to be exact, it had been one month, 3 weeks, One day.. 5 hours... 26 minutes and... 5... 6... 7.... 8 seconds since it happened.   


How many seconds was that in total? How many seconds separated him from the beginning of an act that seemingly had no end?  


He raises his wrist over his face, examining the watch that his Uncle Pete had given to him the first day he'd started hormones. How long ago was that? He couldn't recall right then.  
Instead, he laid there, nervously watching as the second hand ticked softly.

  
23... 24.... 25.....   


Fuck.  


He promised to himself, two days and 12 hours after it happen, that he would try to stop keeping track of the time after it began. Watching as each second slowly turned into minutes, and then manifested into hours, and then festered into days of wondering why he was still alive. Days turned into weeks of questioning what point there was in life. Weeks turns into months of.. of..  


He inhales shakily as his face grows numb.  


32... 33... 34...  


Breath out.  


The numbness fades into a buzzing that never really goes away. It's always there. In the last month he's made enough progress to block parts of it out long enough to be relatively functional. Or, block It out just long enough to do what his Mother and Pete ask him to do. Which, for now, really isn't that much.   


Ever since his life took a downhill tumble into the shitter, he's found that he's done a good job in becoming a useless piece of fuck around the house. He hardly helped with chores, hardly kept the buzzing away long enough to where he could contribute _something_ . His mother seemed patient with the time it took for Nick to recover, and Pete tolerated the behavior just enough to keep his opinions on it to a down-low. Nick wondered if Pete would ever get on his case for this. Had the situation been different..? Maybe. But...   


A soft knock from the door echoes through the quiet room, sending a startled jolt through Nick's body. He sits upright, looking over at the door with nervous eyes. At least it brings him back.   


57... 58... 59....   


"Hey, Nick?" Pete opens the door without getting an 'Ok', and it bothers Nick for a split second. Pete was always like this with Nick. But...  


01... 02... 03...  


Nick would’ve appreciated there being more of a line of privacy when it came to his room.  


"Yeah, Pete?"  


"Good, you're up." A small smile wrinkles his eyes a bit, the door creaking open further to make more room for Pete to stand in the doorway. "...You doing alright, son? Be honest."  


_Be honest_ .   


15... 16... 17...  


Honesty-- when it came to this-- wasn't his middle name. He knows if he's honest here, he risks a barrage of questions that he had no answers to. At least, not as of now. He takes another moment to wonder how much time has separated him from the beginning.   


20... 21... 22...  


He takes in a deep breath, holding it for a moment, before soon exhaling shakily again. Nick isn't doing as well as he should be.  


23... 24... 25...  


It takes him 10 seconds to form a cohesive thought.   


_Stop counting, kid._   


"I'm fine." He speaks, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and letting his toes touch the cool carpet. He doesn't make eye contact with Pete. He can't bring himself to look up at him.  


Pete clears his throat to try to fill the silence.   


"You sure you're being honest?" Pete's voice is softer than usual. He's been giving Nick the good treatment since his nephew's discharge. A gentleness of that close to his mother's. It's... nice. Nick knows he's taking it for granted. He knows if he makes one wrong move, the warmth will fade to a critical gaze he can never shake.   


30... 31... 32...  


_Fuck._   


Sometime he could never stop counting.

 

He forces himself to stand up, and gets himself to move over to his dresser to find clean clothes. Maybe he can force himself to shower today. He doesn't feel right in his skin right now. Gross, oily, and weird all together. His moment of silence extended longer than it should have. "Y-Yeah, I... I am being honest..."

  
Pete sighs. Nick makes the fatal mistake of looking over at his uncle for just a moment.   
A moment is just enough to catch the glimpse of pity and hurt and sadness all mixed into Pete's expression.   


Nick freezes and looks away instantly.   


"If you need to uh... talk.." Pete's voice is a little distant. Just for a second. This is Pete's way of pressing that he knows something is wrong. His way of showing that he knows something really is up, but he just can't push it. "I... Well, I'm here for you. Okay? Don't forget that, son... _please_ ..." His voice fails him, cracks. The final word is edged in a tone that almost sounds like a plead.   


Nick's gut twists bad. His uncle has never sounded as broken as he has the last two months. A strong man with no fears, no demons, now crumbled down to a man who fears losing his pseudo-son if he makes the wrong choice or move here. A fear of ‘what if Nick goes over the edge again’ and then they had to make funeral plans along with attending court sessions over... this.  


45... 46... 47...  


The ticking, a sound only Nick can hear, fills the empty space. He doesn't breath now.   


49... 50... 51...  


"Yeah..." He sighs quietly.  


52... 53... 54...  


His voice is blank, lacks the emotion it should have. He sounds like he's brushing Pete to the side. He sounds like he's doing this to purposely hurt Pete.

  
55... 56... 57...

  
He doesn't want to do that. He never wanted to hurt Pete.   


58... 59... 00...  


Nick is frozen in place and he can't move. The silence that fills the air could kill. It's killing Pete right now, he knew.   


"Alright." Pete sighed. "Good talk, good talk, son." The floor creaks under him as he steps back. Then there's another moment of silence.   


13... 14... 15...  


"Hey, why don't you come downstairs for breakfast in a little bit?" Pete offers, his voice a little brighter. "Your mother's still sleeping, but, I can try to make you something good."  


The offer lets Nick relax a little. He takes in another deep breath.

  
20... 21... 22...   


"Yeah." He pulls out a pair of clean boxers, and soon shifts up to the top drawer to pull out his binder. "That... sounds good."  


He spares Pete another glance.  


He's smiling now, at least a little bit.   


"That's the spirit."  


Another creak in the floor signals that Pete is about to leave.   


"Hey, wait." Nick calls.  


"Yeah, son?"  


"Can you..."  


His throat tightens a little.

  
40... 41... 42...   


He can't say it. He just can't.  


"The living room door?" Pete finishes off the thought. They both know what Nick wants.  


"Yeah."  


"Got it." Pete backs away to head down. "I'll make sure it's taken care of. French toast and eggs scrambled, right?"

  
"Just eggs."   


"You sure?"  


Nick feels that sense of doubt coming back to him. He swallows down the swarm of wasps beginning to form in the back of his head.  


"Yeah, I'm sure."  


"Alright." Pete's foot hits the top step. "See you downstairs."   


All stairs, but the bottommost one, are quiet as he goes down. The final one creaks and lets Nick know Pete is really downstairs.   


10... 11... 12...  


Nick swallows down the restart of the numbing of his face, and soon brings himself to walk towards the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

  
{ _i_ }

 

* * *

 

**Orange Bitch: 2:31 AM**

{...}

{Nick, I want to go home.}

 

* * *

  


"How is he?"  


He stops just before the final step, back tracking up the stairs a little bit. He keeps out of the view of the kitchen doorway, stationed just across from the bottom part of the stairway.   


The chatter inside of the kitchen is kept to a low burning, the soft pair of whispers letting Nick know he and Pete aren't the only ones awake.   


It's his mother.  


"He's doing better than usual, I think." Pete sighed over the soft sizzling of eggs. "He got out of bed by himself to shower. Without anyone telling him to do so."   


Nick feels like there's patronization in his voice. Irritation.   


He stares down at the watch.  


33... 34... 35...  


He swallows back down the bile that's been crawling up his throat all morning.

 

"That's good." There's a soft tinge of relief to his mother's voice. It gives him a moment of calm. "Maybe he's starting to get back to his old self."  


"Francine..." Pete's voice sounds oddly frustrated. Oddly pleading. Nick isn't sure what he's pleading for. "I don't think Nick will ever be his old self after... that.."  


55... 56... 57...

 

Pete isn't wrong. Everyone in the whole damn world knows that Pete isn't wrong.

 

His mother inhales in the same shaky way that Nick does. Like she’s going to _cry_.

 

00.. 01... 02...

 

“I know...” His mother finally sighs, almost defeatedly. “A mother can dream though, right?” She laughs a little, like there was a dark joke somewhere in her words. It’s a hollow laugh, though. A saddened laugh. She’s quiet again.

 

“Sometimes dreaming can't help anyone.” Pete clicks the burner off. “Especially with this.”

 

“I know, Peter... I...” Her voice cracks. She's silent again.

 

20... 21... 22...

 

“I didn't think I’d have to go back there.” His mother finally whispers. “I’ve always thought that that place was far behind me.”

 

“Francine...” Pete’s voice is soft as a feather.

 

“I didn't think I would ever have to go back to take my own _child_ there.”

 

35... 36... 37...

 

Nick found out more things the night it all happened. More things than he ever really dreamed of knowing. Things he was sure he wasn't supposed to now.

 

Now, he was left to rot in this knowledge.

 

40... 41... 42...

 

To put it plainly; his mother, of all people Nick knew, knows that Pete isn't wrong when it comes to this.

 

45... 46... 47...

 

Nick gives them a few moments of silence before he slowly comes down the last few steps and into their view.

 

He looks around for a moment. Pete kept true to his word. The living room door was closed. Silent on the other end. Like the room beyond it didn't exist.

 

50... 51... 52...

 

He’d rather keep it that way.

 

When he finally looks into the kitchen, his mother has already adjusted her face, but the remnants of grief and pain are still there.

 

“Hey, baby..” His mother’s voice is a gentle coo as he comes in, so soft and so warm you could wrap yourself up in it and know you'd be getting a good night's rest. Her voice was a comfort zone in bad bad world. “How’d you sleep last night?”

 

“Hey, Mom..” Nick pulls out a seat next to her, sitting awkwardly on it. He looks at the floor, letting his eyes wander along the lines in the tiling. “Well... Better than usual...”

 

His mother chuckles. “What time did you go to sleep, pumpkin?” She looks his face over. He knows he looks like a fucking raccoon at this point. The dark circles and bags under his eyes told her more than what he could ever say.

 

His mother was extremely good at that. Reading facial expressions like she read her college textbooks and knowing body language like she knew the back of her own hand.

 

13... 14... 15....

 

In short, Nick couldn't lie to her.

 

“Uhh...” He squints at the ground in thought. “I dunno... 1... maybe 2 O’clock?”

 

“5-6 hours?” She seems impressed.

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Well,” Pete chimes in. “That's a hell of an improvement.” He distributes out the scrambled eggs onto three plates. “In any case, It's a lot better than the power naps you've been taking at night instead of really sleeping. Almost a full night of sleep.”

 

His mother nods in agreement and there's a moment of silence following. Nick shifts uneasily to quell the antsiness from it.

 

20... 21... 22...

 

“Do... Do you think it’s the medication?” Pete carries over two of the plates, setting it on the table in front of them. “That’s been keeping you up?”

 

Nick’s mother side eyes her older brother weirdly, in a way that Nick doesn't fully read well.

 

32... 33... 34...

 

“I...” Nick tries to find words. “I don't think so.” He looks down at the steaming plate of eggs. He’s not sure he can eat right now. He knows he should, he _needs_ to eat. But the summersaults his stomach does would never let him comfortably keep the food down. “I’ve been sleeping like shit for months before I started. So...”

 

Pete nodded, smiling as he sat back against the counter. “Alright. Well, that's good to know.” His tone is weird. Sure, there's relief somewhere if Nick digs down deep into Pete’s tone, but there's something else there. Slowly, Nick skins starts to itch in a way that he knows he can't scratch. It's a mental itch. Pete’s tone is rubbing him the wrong way, and something about this makes him uneasy.

 

Pete shifts a little in the ensuing silence. He looks out the window, sipping on a cup of black coffee, narrowing his eyes a little. “Hey, Nick...”

 

Nick tenses a little under the large T-shirt and baggy plaid pants.

 

Nick’s mom looks over at Pete with narrowed eyes, a gaze that tries to tell him to shut up.

 

Pete can't see it, though. Nick’s not even sure he can feel her gaze on him right now.

 

Nick purses his lips together and glances back at the watch. His hands are shaking now.

 

04... 05... 06...

 

“Yeah?” He murmurs softly to allow Pete to continue.

 

“Now, son, you know you can be honest with us...”

 

“Peter...” His mother urges.

 

Nick’s stomach lurches and he pales over.

 

20... 21... 22...

 

_No. No. No._

 

“Are... you sure you don't know why you can't sleep lately?” He takes a slow sip, let's it sit on his mouth, and then swallows. “Are those damn nightmares keeping you up at night?”

 

 _No. No._ **_No._ **

 

“ _Peter_...” Nick’s mother presses through a tensed jaw. She catches Nick’s pallor and his shakiness. Nick wasn't ready to answer this question. “This isn't the time.”

 

31... 32... 33...

 

Pete continues to gaze out the window, but now he's turned in a way that hides his face from Nick. It's a sign of irritation, brewing anger that sends Nick’s mind into a brewing storm.

 

40... 41... 42...

 

“Alright,” Pete finally sighs reluctantly. “It's not the right time.” He echoed and nodded, setting his coffee mug down. “I understand that. It's alright.”

 

Nick deflates in relief. “Thanks.”

 

“Son, just...” Pete turns back to Nick, opening his mouth slightly and then closing it. He looks to the side. He inhales slowly and then exhales. “When it's the right time, don't hesitate to confide in one of us.”

 

“Yeah, alright.” Nick looks to his eggs. They're lukewarm, and he's in no state to eat. Instead, he gnaws on his tongue.

 

Pete nods, looking at the newspaper to his side. Call him old fashioned.

 

“So, Francine...” He finally turns his attention away from Nick, giving him a few moments of peace.

 

03... 04... 05...

 

Nick closes his eyes and allows his mind to drift.

 

The murmuring between Pete and his mother became a background noise that faded into static. He feels himself shift in his skin, like it was a gross bag over his _actual_ skin. No one told him that, even with hormones, he’d still feel wrong in his own skin.

 

It wasn't as bad anymore.

 

He remembered how bad he felt before he was on T. How angry he was with himself, how he hated himself.

 

Well, that didn't exactly change.

 

He was no longer angry with himself over his body. He no longer hated himself for his body. Instead, the anger and hatred shifted over into an internalized vortex of pain over his own mental state. It didn't help in the slightest.

 

08... 09... 10...

 

“Hey, Muffin?” Nick’s mother cuts through his thoughts again.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“When...” She looks to the side. “When was the last time you talked to Lucas?”

 

Lucas?

 

Luke.

 

He’s a good friend of many years. A friend Nick has gotten to see blossom into someone everyone in town looked up to; all in the span of a decade. Sometimes it seemed like he was growing into his skin better than Nick was. Luke rolled with life and somehow everything seemed to fall into place.

 

Over the last year, however, Luke had hit potholes in his life’s road. Sometimes, to Luke, they were bigger than his existence

 

“Last night? I think.” He reaches to get his phone from his pocket, but curses when he realizes he’s left it upstairs. “Fuck... yeah, I think it was last night. Why?”

 

Sometimes, the potholes around here easily disguised themselves as waiting sinkholes.

 

Pete and his mother trade nervous looks. Nick had never felt fear like this hit him so hard in so long. The past creeps up on him like a pack of snakes.

  
  


_“Luke, please don't fucking do this do me.”_

  
  


“What happened?” He looks between them, eyebrows furrowing. There's a silence in the room that tears Nick limb from limb. He’s starting to shake again.

 

20... 21... 22...

 

His mother reaches over to touch his hand, but Nick is quick to pull away. She looks over st him with uneasy eyes. “Nick, Baby, calm down.”

 

“No! What's going on?! What's wrong with Luke?”

 

Pete shifts and sets his coffee mug down. He turns back fully to watch Nick. “Luke... Luke is back in the hospital, Nick.”

 

Nick feels his heart stop. He feels the floor crumble. He feels fear impale him hard.

 

_“Luke..?”_

 

He feels so much at once that he isn't sure he's feeling anything

 

“He’s in for his pneumonia, right?”

 

Luke had nearly drowned at the summer camp in the woods, almost a month back. He was in the general hospital for a week trying to let his wounds heal and monitor his lungs. He had pneumonia still, three weeks later. He had pneumonia still. He had pneumonia still.

 

“ _Right_?” Nick presses harder than he intends to.

 

“Son..” Pete puts a hand up to try to tell Nick to settle down. “Nick, son, now, just, calm down.”

 

“Calm down?” Nick shoots up from his chair. “ _Calm down?!_ Where is he? Why is he there? He-”

 

“Luke attempted again. Late last night.” Pete finally sighs out. It sounds so blunt. Like being hit with a brick to the side of the head. “He’s in the ER right now. They’re cleaning his system out of what he took.. and... Look, Nick, you're his friend.” Pete sighs. “He really wants to see you before he gets placed somewhere for a little while again.”

 

Nick sits down and doubles over like the wind had been punched right out of him.

 

....Luke attempted suicide..?

 

_“N-N-Nick... Can I talk to you about something?”_

 

....Again...?

 

_It’s December 23rd, 2015._

 

_12 AM._

 

_Luke chugs down the bottle of peach vodka like it’s a bottle of coke. Nick’s never known him to be a hard drinker. Alcohol in this town was a quick turn to here in this town. If you were having a bad time? Alcohol was there. “Look... I-I-I- Fuck man, G-God.” Nick is surprised Luke can talk with the amount he's drinking right now._

 

_Nick notices that alcohol makes his friend sound more like a broken record than anything. It's not this bad when he's sober._

 

 _Nick is always surprised at how similar drunk people sound. They all either sounded hopelessly horny, hopelessly angry, or hopelessly depressed. Luke sounds_ **_beyond_ ** _hopelessly depressed._

 

_“Yeah? What's up?” Nick looks over with a little bit of worry. He, himself, doesn't drink._

 

 _“N-Nick..” Luke’s face contorts and he bites his lip. “I did something bad. Like... really really_ **_bad_ ** _..”_

 

_Nick’s brows furrowed. Fear starts to paint his face. “What?”_

 

 _Bad things and Luke weren't two of which that took the same company. Luke was the A honor student of this shithole town. A Junior High-Schooler with the road out of here paved in scholarships and_ **_maybe_ ** _a modeling career if he got lucky enough._

 

_Luke had a lot more in life to look forward to than most kids here._

 

_Nick feels his face go cold and numb._

 

_“What do you mean, bad?” Nick adjusts himself more to face him._

 

_“I... F-Fuck, I didn't mean to... I...” He places the bottle on the floor besides him. “Oh fuck. Oh Christ...” He now pulls his knees in close. He buries his face into his hands and... oh sweet fuck, was he crying?_

 

_“Luke, you're really fucking scaring me dude.”_

 

_“I...” He tries to calm himself down long enough to speak. “I-I accidentally knocked this girl up.” He was shaking. “I didn't mean to, f-fuck, we were just fooling around and then..”_

 

_Nick’s heart stops. Nick holds his breath._

 

_“You got a girl pregnant?”_

 

_Luke nods quickly. At least, as quickly as a drunk kid can nod._

 

 _“Fuck, man..” Nick placed a hand on Luke’s trembling shoulder. “What... how..?” He doesn't know what to say. He isn't sure there's much he_ **_can_ ** _say._

 

_“We... I was drunk at this house party a month or two ago.” Luke rambles. “We went into one of the rooms, and... God..” He groans. “We fucked-- a-and I didn't think to slip on a condom-- and I didn't get her number b-but I saw her at school the other day-- and she pulled me to the side and told me to meet her at the parking lot and--”_

 

_“Luke...”_

 

 _“S-She broke the news to me. Her parents know and they_ **_called_ ** _my parents last night.” He starts to breath quicker than usual. “N-N-Nick I don't know what to do. They're so angry, they...” He takes in a deep breath and exhales shakily, bringing the vodka bottle back to his lips and drinking in big gulps. “They still thought that I was their perfect straight A, 4.2 GPA son and-- look at me now!”_

 

_Luke laughs briefly before starting to cry again._

 

_“I-I’m going to be a teen parent, strung up in alcohol and house parties to distract myself from my debilitating depressive state.” He looks down at the hardwood. “I thought I could bounce back, but-- Fuck-- this is starting to crush me, Nick. Like, I-I feel like I’ve gone past the point of return from this. I... I’m not sure I can return from this hit.”_

 

_Nick doesn't know what to do. He never knows what to do, or what’s the right thing to say when people are like this. Nick hardly knows what to do when he himself is on the edge of no return. He shakes as he looks up at Luke._

 

_This isn't the first breakdown Luke has had in front of Nick. The first was a few months back over something Nick thought was small. A mediocre grade on a big project that temporarily knocked an AP grade down to a B. Nick had never seen Luke rip out his own hair and panic in the middle of the woods behind the Forestview Baptist Church like he had that time._

 

 _This drunken episode of crying surely wasn't the first big one. But this is the first time where Luke genuinely sounds like he’s hit rock bottom and hit it_ **_hard_ ** _._

 

_“This isn't the end of the line, Luke.” His voice cracks and strains. He's scared. He’s so so scared. “Fuck, Luke, man, you fucking know this isn't the end.”_

 

_Luke is quiet._

 

_“Dude, please.” Nick looks up at him with pleading eyes. He has never known panic quite like this. He had been threatened with abandonment so many times, but it was always with people who never really matter to him. Luke? Luke was the most important person in his life. “Please... Don’t do this to me...”_

 

_“To you?”_

 

_Nick flinches and looks down. He’s selfish. So fucking selfish. “Fuck, I... I’m sorry..” He quickly utters out and shakes._

 

_“No, don't be..” Luke sighs. “Don't be.. I... I appreciate you.”_

 

_Nick nods. He knows it's the closest he’ll ever get to an ‘I love you’._

 

_“Please don't go, Luke.”_

 

“Nick?”

 

_After that talk, Luke attempted to take his life in the middle of the night, right after Nick fell asleep. An empty bottle of Prozac and peach vodka found next to his seizing best friend._

 

_Nick had never seen someone have a seizure before that._

 

“Nicholas?”

 

Pete’s voice drags Nick out of his thoughts quickly.

 

“What?” Nick hisses out. He’s rocking a little and he doesn't know it. “Fuck, what it is?”

 

“You have group at 4 PM today.” Pete narrows his eyes a little, but he sighs. He doesn't correct Nick. He doesn't yell back at him or respond with sarcasm that fixes Nick quicker than Nick could ever fix himself. No one has the energy to fight, not now. He moves over to get more black coffee from the coffee pot. “Do you want to get ready real fast and pay a visit to Luke?”

 

Nick looks down at the floor, jaw tense. “I.. I...” He goes quiet for a few moments. His lips quiver. He can't stop the tears. He angrily grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

 

_Boys don't cry._

 

_Boys don't cry._

 

“Nick, sweetie?”

 

Nick gets up quickly.

 

_Boys don't cry._

 

His brain is screaming. His heart is screaming. His skin is screaming. His body is _screaming_.

 

_Boys can only fucking scream._

 

And he can't hold it back now.

 

He rushes towards the back door, breath quick. He’s quick to slip his sandals on, his mother getting up to try to go after him.

 

“Nick, _please_ -”

 

He can't hear his mother anymore. He can’t see anything anymore except red.

 

Nick runs blindly into the woods behind his house. He doesn't care where he goes. He just needs to leave for a few minutes.

 

He needs release.

 

Eventually, he runs out of steam. His lungs are tight and his head is spinning. He looks around, dragging his hands down his face for a moment.

 

He can't hold it in anymore.

 

“ _FUCK_!” Nick let's out everything in a loud scream in each and every direction.  “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

 

He doubles over, holding his gut and fighting to breath through his outburst. His heart races fast in his chest, threatening to burst out of his chest.

 

_Why?_

 

His screams soon melt into hoarse cries.  Messy, snotty sobs that shake his whole body. He falls to his knees, holding himself as thunder rumbles in the distance.

 

_What did Nick do wrong this go around?_

 

_What did he miss?_

 

_What did Nick fail to say?_

 

Nick hasn't cried this hard since his own first night in the psychiatric ward. When the truth of the event from almost 2 months ago hit him hard. The severity of the event. How bad it was. How bad he himself hurt.

 

This hurts. Hearing that your best friend just attempted suicide _again_ , hurts so bad. This hurts beyond belief, but in an old way that makes Nick sick.

 

Nick breaths in and out shakily, leaning his head back. He’s exhausted. A light drizzle falls onto Nick’s face.

 

55... 56... 57...

 

He hates revisiting buried fear.

 

58... 59... 00...

 

...

 

“Feeling any better, son?”

 

Nick walks back home just before it downpours. He’s emotionally numb. The cry did him good. So much good. But, he's drained.

 

Pete waits for him at the back door of the house, sipping his last bit of black coffee down. He looks him up and down, and then looks away.

 

When Pete asks, Nick nods.

 

“Yeah..” He sighs. “Can... can we go see Luke?”

 

Pete smiles faintly and offers him a curt nod. “Alright, Nick.”

 

_Let's go see Luke._

  
  


_..._

_.._

_._

  
  


{I’m so sorry, Nick.}


	2. ii: The Parents // The Memory

**[ !! TWS: Details of Suicide, Rape]**

 

ii: The Parents // The Memory

 

_ “Her eyes are always filled with a sort of adoration for her only son that Nick himself has never quite seen in his own mother’s eyes.”  _

//

_ “All in all, he thinks that it's so weird how you can spend your entire life trying to forget a few terrible moments. And, boy, were those moments more than terrible.” _

* * *

 

{  _ ii  _ }

 

* * *

 

**Bisexual Bird: 15 minutes ago.**

{have I seen Luke?}

{yeah, sort of}

{he visited for 5 minutes yesterday with his parents to see the baby}

{he didn't seem too good}

{being the sad boy scout he always is}

{why?}

* * *

 

 

**11:51:05 AM**

 

**Orange County Hospital**

 

Nick sometimes forgets that there are parents out there whom had loved their children since conception and onwards, and that it would never change. He forgets that there are parents out there who are not bitter over their child’s circumstances of conception, and have always gazed down at their child with nothing but love and overbrimming affection. He forgets that there are parents out there who aren't occasionally bitter over their child being  _ alive _ .

 

Nick is saddened sometimes in knowing that Luke takes his loving parents for granted.

 

01... 02... 03...

 

“Is that Ezra?”

 

The pediatrics wing waiting room for the hospital is big. Bigger than what you’d expect from a hospital around the rural parts of North Carolina. The walls are painted in pastel blues and are covered in pictures of Winnie the Pooh and Disney characters that give Nick a false sense of comfort and peace. 

 

The innocence of the walls clash with the sickly sterile feel this hospital gives off. 

 

There is nothing truly good or warm about the waiting room of a hospital.

 

There are parents holding the hands of molested daughters they will never get back. Mothers hanging onto the memories of many failed pregnancies and holding their only child’s hand in hopes they will not be taken as well.

 

Nick cannot bear to look around the room. He instead follows Pete with his head down, cap low.

 

Pete picks up his pace when he spots Luke’s father. Nick is quick behind him, tensing when he hears Ezra’s low sobs. He finally brings himself to look up.

 

Ezra Braumann was a large man. Though short in height, he was big and built with physical strength beyond Nick’s wildest dreams. His tanned skin is covered with curled dark hairs, all along his arms and peaking out of his opened button up shirt. Ezra's beard is thick while his head hair is shaved down slightly underneath his  _ kippah _ . Both are greying at the roots from aging.

 

Ezra was always a man of God. Ezra was always a  _ real _ man. A man Nick wanted to be. A man Nick wanted to have as his own Father.

 

He cried only on a blue moon. Rarely, but it  _ did _ happen. The last time he cried was when Luke was last rushed to the ER; during his first suicide attempt. He cried hard that time. So hard he collapsed to the floor, screaming in grief and agony. No one could console him. No one could console him. No one could get him to stop crying until he heard that Luke was awake and okay. 

 

“Ezra...” Pete sighs his name sadly. Nick looks up at him now. Pete would always know how the hurt father felt now. Though, Ezra would always be the first out of the two to experience the sheer terror of the threat of losing their pride and joy. The first to let his screams echo through the empty pediatrics hallway. It was a first place medal that no father could ever want to win.

 

“Peter?” Ezra looks up at his old friend with saddened eyes. His voice is a low rumble, like the holy thunder after finding his own flesh son crucified. Ezra’s soft lips tremble as he looks over at Nick. “Nicholas... Thank Goodness, it's so good to see you two.” Ezra struggles to bring himself out of the chair. “I’m so sorry it had to be under these circumstances... I...”

 

“Don't worry.” Pete lowers his head slightly out of respect. “Where’s Cheryl and Luke?”

 

The older man inhales shakily and Nick tenses. He half fears that Ezra will drop some horrific news right then and there. But, he doesn't. “She's sitting with him right now. He’s sleeping for now, I think.” He motions for the two of them to follow as he starts towards the halls. The walk is quiet for a few moments before he shakily speaks again. “He... He overdosed again.”

 

Pete exhales a held breath at the other’s words. Like he's been punched in the gut. “Sweet Mary and Joseph...” 

 

Nick’s stomach churns with anxiety as Ezra numbly speaks.

 

“He was just.. Taking a bath. Like it was nothing.” His voice is weak and small. “And then I hear him crying for his mother.  _ Screaming _ .” Ezra drags himself down the hall. Sadness pulls him down worse than any physical weight this world could offer. “Cheryl runs in-- we both run in. And there he is. Throwing up all over the floor and crying for someone to help him.” 

 

Pete places a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. He rambles in his grief just like Luke does when he's drunk. 

 

“ _ Momma help me. Please help me _ .” His voice mimics a soft cry, and soon he really  _ is _ crying again. “Peter, I can't keep nearly losing my boy like this. I can't. I  _ can't _ .” 

 

“I know, I know..” Pete offers his shoulder a squeeze of reassurance. Pete is bad with words now. It's a sore subject for everyone. It’s a horrible subject for everyone. Nick wonders if Pete is getting choked up.

 

10... 11... 12...

 

They soon come close to Luke’s room, and Ezra stops.

 

“I can't go in there like this.” He covers his face. “He won't read it well. It'll make him feel worse. I’ll be in there in a little bit.”

 

“Nick, I’ll stay out here as well.” Pete looks over at Ezra sadly. “Go ahead and go see Luke, okay?”

 

Nick nods silently. He can’t find any good words to say. He isn't sure he  _ can _ say anything to the distraught father without making it worse. So he keeps quiet and swallows down the anxiety filling his chest and gut. 

 

He starts towards the room, hand shaky as he quietly knocks on the closed wood door. There's an orange warning sign on it.

 

**DO NOT ENTER WITH ELECTRONICS, STRING, OR SHARP OBJECTS.**

 

Christ, did this feel familiar.

 

“Come in!” The voice, kept to a whisper, isn't Cheryl or Luke, but the assumed watch nurse.

 

No one checks him before he goes.

 

Nick’s breath is shaky as he opens the door.

 

He is not surprised to see Luke’s Mother gently draping her arm over the pillow Luke lays on, her hand gently touching the back of his head. Her other arm is brought around to touch Luke’s side, fingers rubbing along his ribs through the green hospital gown.

 

Cheryl Braumann was a woman taller than life itself. Well over Luke’s height, she seems to find it difficult to sit comfortably in the cold chair. She shifts every now and then, but her fingers linger where they are. She’s awake, staring at him with her pained blue eyes. In the silence, she hums something close to a lullaby. Nick wonders if she does this to soothe her son, or just soothe herself.

 

She’s an older woman, older than Pete though aging better than he was. She was certainly old enough to be Nick’s grandmother, but he doesn't point it out to her face. Her body is thin and fragile, pale, and her long platinum blond hair is tied up in a bun. 

 

Cheryl looks nothing like her son.

 

Maybe that's just a part of being in your 60’s and having a 16 year old son. Maybe under the years of aging, or if you looked long enough, she’d share just as many features with her little boy as he did with his father.

 

Luke surely took after his father, though. Built slightly like his father, though his height gives him a better distribution of muscle and baby fat. His skin was a lot tanner than his mother’s pale complexion, though not quite as dark as his father’s, and his face was a little softer than her angled profile. 

 

“M-Mrs. Braumann?” Nick’s voice is soft and quiet, trying not to disturb Luke. In a way, he’s also trying not to disturb  _ her.  _ Her eyes are lost in her son’s face, never straying from it. She seems so deep in thought as her eyes wander his relaxed expression. Nick feels like an asshole for pulling her attention away from Luke.

 

She looks over quickly, eyes soft as she spots him. A faint smile paints her face. “Nicholas, you're here.” She sighs, almost out of relief. “It's so good to see you. How are you?” 

 

“I’m fine.” He lies, going over towards the edge of Luke’s bed and by Cheryl's side. Now that Nick is closer, he sees how bundled up in wires he is. A heart monitor, vitals machine, an IV through the top of his hand, and a nasal breathing... thing. Nick doesn't know the name of it. He grimaces at the sight nonetheless. “How is he?”

 

“He’s alive. Hanging in there.” Cheryl looks up at Nick and then back to Luke. “He hasn't woken up since we came in, but he asked for you before he fell asleep.” 

 

Nick closes his eyes to try to manage his own feelings. It bubbles in his chest and makes him nauseous. “When was that?”

 

“3 AM. He’s been sleeping ever since, but he's stable and occasionally moves in his sleep.” Her eyes are always filled with a sort of adoration for her son that Nick himself has never quite seen in his own mother’s eyes. He notices it when he opens his eyes to look at Cheryl. He doesn't feel well upon noticing that. “He had to get his stomach pumped when he got here, so I don't think he'll be a happy camper with speaking when he gets up.”

 

“Damn..” He sighs. He looks down as Cheryl pats for him to sit in the chair next to her. He hesitantly does so, inhaling and exhaling slowly. 

 

The room is quiet, and the soft crackled breathing Luke makes fills the air.

 

01... 02... 03...

 

“Do you know why he did it?”

 

Fuck. 

 

It's not the right question to ask, and Nick realizes that the second after the words leave his mouth.

 

“I...” Cheryl closes her eyes in thought. “God, I was going to ask you the same thing, Nicholas.” She laughs a little. It's the same hollow laugh that Nick’s mother let's out in times like these. “I feel like he talks to you more than he does with Ezra and I.” 

 

Was... was there bitterness in her voice? Nick isn't sure if he’s over analyzing her again. Goddamnit. He looks away in a mixture of shame and anxiety that gives him the shivers.

 

“If I’m being truthful, I don't think he gave us any warning this time. A reason why he would do this.” Her voice starts grow distant and sad. “Or maybe he  _ did _ . And we were just too blind to read between the lines.” Her lips quiver now, and she looks like she's fighting to keep her tears back. “I...”

 

“I don't think he likes to warn people directly when he... does this.” He swallowed hard. “‘Don't think anyone likes to do that unless they  _ want _ to be saved.”

 

The implications of his words make Cheryl tense hard. Nick grimaces.  _ Unless they want to be saved _ . 

 

Nick isn't entirely right. He isn't entirely wrong, either.

 

Cheryl looks at Luke with pained eyes. Her words are trembling and breathless now. “I hope he isn't mad. I hope he’ll be okay..” 

 

Then Nick remembers what Ezra said. 

 

“ _ Momma help me. Please help me.” _

 

“I don't think he'll be mad.” Nick looks her way. “I... I think he wanted to be saved this go around.” He sighs out. “He.. maybe he wants to live still.”

 

Cheryl tears up and she bites her lip. That struck a sensitive nerve. She nods and lowers her head to place a soft kiss on Luke’s good hand. And she softly sobs. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


{  _ ii  _ }

 

* * *

 

**...**

**..**

**.**

 

Nick did  _ not _ want to be saved that night _. _

 

He remembers his first suicide attempt like it had happened yesterday. 

 

Actually, scratch that, it wasn't the attempt that he truly remembered.

 

It was the  _ event _ that sparked it off.

 

_ The catalyst _ you could call it.

 

All in all, he thinks that it's so weird how you can spend your entire life trying to forget a few terrible moments. 

 

And, boy, were those moments more than terrible. 

 

Nick tries his best to forget the shame, anger, guilt, and the sense of filth that he could never wash away no matter how hard he scrubbed. He tries to forget his assault and erases parts of the house from his mind to try to coax his brain to do the same with the event itself.

 

But nothing gives.

 

He is left to rot in remembering it  _ all _ .

 

He remembers attempting with the pain of having just been violated still fresh on his mind and skin. Bruised hips, bites scattered on his neck, his own blood smeared along his thigh, and an alien heat burrowed deep into his womb. 

 

Nick remembers trying to take his life while his assailant stood just a few feet away from him; getting dressed and smirking with satisfaction as he looked back at his victim’s wrecked figure lying in the living room floor.

 

Nick did  _ not _ want to be saved that night. 

 

If he sits still long enough on quiet nights, he can still smell his rapist’s sweat and hot, alcoholic laced breath running down his neck.

 

Sometime Nick wishes he  _ hadn't _ been saved that night.

 

Fuck.

 

His breath quickens and he closes his eyes shut tight.

 

Fuck.  _ Stop _ .

 

00... 01... 02...

 

Breath.

 

_ This isn't the living room. _

 

Nick wonders sometimes if Luke wanted to be saved the first go around. Did he give all of the warnings to Nick and he was just too stupid to realize that his friend was trying to reach out for help in his time of need? Did Luke really want to be saved? 

 

That was just another part of suicide. Sometimes, it's a nasty impulse that goes sour. You don't want to be saved in that moment. Sometimes, it's like a premeditated murder. But, part of you  _ still _ wants to be saved and given a reason to not do it.

 

Nick isn't sure which area Luke falls under and he’s sure he will never know for sure. After all, he himself wasn't Luke.

 

**_Bzzzt._ **

 

**_*Tweet!*_ **

 

Nick jumps a little as his phone vibrates and dings in his pocket. Pete looks over for a second as he drives through the rain, looking back at the road while raising a brow.

 

“That's an interesting ringtone choice.” He comments softly. 

 

“Yeah..” He pulls out his phone.

 

**4:03:31 PM**

 

**Bisexual Bird: 5 minute(s) ago:**

{where are you?}

{group is starting soon}

{and it's party night}

{and I know you two seemed p damn excited for party night}

 

**Bisexual Bird: Now:**

{are you two alright?}

 

Nick inhales shakily. Fuck. It’s Jane.

 

**You:**

{Hey}

{Uh}

 

Luke didn’t wake up during the time Nick was in his room. 

 

Nick couldn't afford to be upset over Luke sleeping in after that mess.

 

**You:**

{I’m not going to group today}

{Neither is Luke}

 

**Bisexual Bird:**

{??}

{why?}

 

**You:**

{It’s uh}

{Fuck}

 

**Bisexual Bird:**

{dude, are you guys alright?}

{what happened?}

 

Nick inhales deeply, trying to keep himself together. Grief and pain swell in his chest so suddenly that he finds it hard to keep himself composed.

 

_ You’re okay. _

 

_ You’re okay. _

 

_ You’re okay. _

 

Nick’s breath hitches in his throat, his lips curl into a deep frown. 

 

_ No, I'm not. No, I’m not. No, I’m not. _

 

“Nick, what's wrong?” Pete finally sighs out. 

 

Nick bites back his tears.

 

“Fuck, I’m fine.” He’s struggling to calm himself now that he has Pete’s attention.

 

“Nicholas Randall, for the love of god.” Pete makes a split second decision and drives the car over to the side and into the gravel besides the road. Nick is starting to enter a panic attack. “Son, you’re  _ not _ fine.”

 

“Pete, I swear to  _ god _ .” Nick grabs onto the seat, breathing starting to quicken more. “Do not start with this.  _ Please _ . I’m fine.”

 

“Nick, you are not fucking fine!” Pete turns to him. His voice is raised, and it's a fatal mistake everyone forgets to make around Nick. “You always say you're okay, but you're  _ not. _ ”

 

“Don't yell at me!” Nick goes into full defense. He yells louder than Pete to try to drown his voice out. Nick is so close to crying. “And, guess what? I’d be fucking fine if you guys weren't always asking me if I was.”

 

“We only ask because we  _ care _ about you, son.” Pete clenches his hands on the steering wheel. “Everyone does, we’re all worried sick about you.”

 

“Oh, so suddenly the entire fucking population of North Carolina cares about my well being?” Nick forces out an amused chuckle, but it cuts short as his anxiety overtakes him. “Please, god,  _ stop _ asking me if I'm okay.”

 

“Why shouldn't I!?” Pete looks over quickly. “Nick--  _ Fuck _ \-- If no one asks, you end up keeping your mouth shut about it until you finally can't handle it and you lose it!”

 

“Pete, every time you ask, I have to answer more questions that I can't handle. And  _ that's  _ when I fucking lose it.”

 

“Son, if you aren't fine, we have to ask questions to see what'll help.” 

 

“But that's the fucking thing!” Nick screams and it takes Pete by surprise. “There's no helping this right now! Pete, for fucks sake, I was  _ raped _ .” Nick starts to angry cry, teeth grit and hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “And you know what? I'm still fucked up over it. Is that what you want to hear?"

 

Pete’s eyes soften. “Son..”

 

"It's only been _two months_. Two fucking months! I know this shit hurts you and mom, but my memories of what happened are still raw and alive. I can still feel _him_ in my body.” Nick deflates back into his chair and lets himself melt into his own sobs. “I need time to grieve. Pete, please, just let me grieve over what he did to  _ me _ in peace.” 

 

Pete doesn't reply. Instead he starts the car back up and gets back onto the road towards the house. 

 

The car ride is silent until they park into the driveway. 

 

“Nick, I'm sorry.”

 

Nick doesn't reply. He doesn't talk for the rest of the day. 

 

**...**

**..**

**.**

 

{nick}

{did luke attempt?}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Thank you also for the supportive response over the first chapter! I'm glad the first one managed to hit off with some people, and that it caught others interest!
> 
> Before I add notes for this chapter, I should restate again: This story is meant to get dark. Really dark. As always, Triggers will always be included at the top, but please know this.
> 
> Chapter Notes:
> 
> \- I don't think I've specified the current main ages yet, so I think it'll be good if I do that...:
> 
> Nick: 15  
> Luke: 16  
> Jane: 15
> 
> \- If it wasn't exactly clear (I'm sorry if it wasn't @_@;; ), Luke's father here is Jewish while Luke's mother is a Christian. He's an intermarriage baby. :0
> 
> \- The age thing with Luke's parents are a part of a stupid reference that'll be brought up later omg;;.. 
> 
> Again: Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day!


	3. iii: A Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was unavoidable, though. The truth. An obvious truth she’d love to ignore.”

**[TW: Suicide, Child Death]**

 

 

iii: A Thought

 

 

* * *

 

{ _iii_ }

 

* * *

  
  


_Did he attempt?_

 

The three words echoed through her mind, bouncing and lighting up memories she didn't need be brought up.

 

She initially knew Luke from a Halloween party that had gone sour quicker than it had ever gotten sweet--leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth when she thought on it.

 

He was a kid who could do no wrong--  A perfect student, son, and human being.

 

At first, everything about him felt obnoxious. A goody two shoes dude who was so morally sound that it made your skin crawl in irritation. A good, soft puppy boy scout, with _some_ issues.

 

Some.

 

Nonetheless, he was someone who was actually getting _better_ from an attempt that put his life on halt for a few months a while back. The kids here heard his story and applauded him all the time after it.

 

The kids in group saw him in a light Jane just couldn't see him in.

 

Goodness and righteousness.

 

He was an example of hope. That there was a chance. That, no matter what, recovery was a possibility.

 

She laughed at how the kids in group idolized him like a saint sometimes.

 

And, sometimes, to her dismay, she subconsciously idolized him too.

 

He seemed like he had his life all thought out, like everything was set just right for him. Everything was just so _good_ for him.

 

This...

 

If she was right on the ball, this kind of restated the fact that he was still another kid falling into the clutches of this town’s contagious depression. Another kid set to die an untimely death without stepping foot out into the real world. Another kid from Fucksville, NC, one who’d eventually become a part of the nation’s running statistic on teen suicide.

 

She swallows dryly.

 

Fuck.

  


**You:**

{nick?}

 

Nick seems as though he might reply, might answer the big question. But-- over the course of 3 hours of waiting along with walking home early through the rain-- he never does. Instead he enters a cycle of cockteasing that irritates her to no fucking end.

 

Type.

 

Erase.

 

Wait a while.

 

Repeat.

 

Finally, she gets sick of it.

 

**You:**

{jesus fuck dude}

{what are you typing??}

{christ, look}

{a yes or no answer would be fine}

 

Jane half expects for the cycle to continue on for another few hours.

 

**Mothman’s Hat:**

{Fuck}

{Yeah, he did}

 

It’s the answer she’s been expecting for hours-- which rightfully felt like years. The confirmation shouldn’t hit her like it did. It shouldn’t make her heart sink to the ground. She shouldn’t feel anything _but_ a sense of “I fuckin knew it”.

 

Jane’s heart almost never listens to her, though.

 

She presses against the upstairs corridor wall, inhaling shakily and sighing. Fuck. She feels the same shock and pain of an entirely different loss haunt her like a ghost. She feels that exact same sense of betrayal. That sense of “what could I have done to prevent this?”. The crippling idea of “god this is somehow my fault”. The wound that had become infected and festered two months prior has reopened a little.

 

And, with that heated pain, came a wave of silent tears she can’t contain.

 

Fuck.

 

She can't get like this. She can't. She can't.

  


**You:**

{god}

{thanks}

{do you have either of his parent’s numbers?}

 

**Mothman’s Hat:**

{Shit, I don’t.}

{Uh}  
{Fuck.}

{Shouldn’t your mom have their number?}

 

**You:**

{i mean, she should?}

{god I don’t want to ask her though}

{i just don’t want to hear her get heated over hearing he’s attempted}

{again}

 

**Mothman’s Hat:**

{Yikes.}

 

**You:**

{yeah}

{i’ll ask her anyways to see if she can hand me Cheryl’s number}

{if she throws a fit I blame Luke’s stupid ass}

 

As if on cue, the front door opens. The rain has settled for a while, just long enough for Jane’s mother to bring the baby inside without her getting drenched.

 

“Hey, Jane Bell, where are you?” Her mother yells from the front door. “C’mon downstairs, I need you to manage Jaime while I start on dinner.”

 

**You:**

{oh fuck}  
{alright time to dive in}

{hope i dont die}

 

“Jane!”

 

“Coming!” Jane peaked a final look at her phone before starting down the stairs.

 

**Mothman’s Hat:**

{Fuck}

{Good luck, asshole.}

 

**You:**

{thanks fuck head}

 

She smirked and started down the stairs. Her mother had set Jaime’s car seat on the kitchen counter, now shuffling around the cabinets to try and grab what she needed. The young teen’s eyes always shifted over to little Jaime’s face. She never really liked staring at her mother for long.

 

“Well, look who it is...” Jane sighed a little going over to her. She unbuckled Jaime from her car seat, gently picking her up and cradling her in her arms. It had taken her months of baby doll holding practice to get a certified ‘good job!’ sticker from Luke’s mom. She was awful with babies, kids in general. She still was. But...

 

The little one squirmed for a moment, soon stretching in Jane’s arms before settling back close to her chest. She’d look up at her every now then, eyes wide and almost full of a light that everyone in this town was drained of.

 

Jane felt like Jaime was growing to be an exception to her awkward rule.

 

Jaime was just a month old. A sweet little thing in comparison to the babies she's held in the past. Never really fussed unless she wasn't being fed on time, or if they woke her up too soon. Jane was always surprised over this. She'd always heard about how little ones like her cried and screamed with no end in sight.

 

Everyone always figured they were just lucky.

 

“She wasn’t a pain at the doctor’s, was she?” Jane asked, moving towards where her mother was while still looking down at Jaime.

 

Jaime had the cutest eyes, a dark brown that resembled Jane’s, and her lips were always puckered in that precious puppy pout. The 15 year old was beginning to adore Jaime more than anything.

 

“Nope.” Her mother looked over for a moment. “She’s been an _angel_.” She turned away as she spoke, her voice laced with a certain something that Jane’s all too familiar with.

 

There's an acidic coating to her voice that itches at Jane’s skin. She looks her over, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Are you being sarcastic again?” Jane asks as she adjusts Jaime in her arms.

 

“I try not to be, Jane Bell.”

 

God, she hates it when her mother got into these moods. Bitterness, sarcasm. Jane knew why she was like this with her. She was glad she knew why, but knowing why made the girl bitter herself.

 

Jane pretends sometimes that it’s actually because of the appearance disparity. She pretends that that’s why her mother doesn't treat her daughter like she cares. Jane has dark hair, dark eyes, and was thin and bird-like. Her mother had long, curly red hair and eyes greener than the summer leaves.

 

Jane looks obscenely like her father. And her mother hates it.

 

A silence fills the air between them.

 

Jane looked away. “Look, I...” She bit her lips. “Can you call Cheryl to see if she’s busy right now?”

 

“What for?”

 

“Something happened to Luke and I..” Jane sighed. “Look, Jill, I just need to see him.”

 

Her mother tenses and then snorts. “Uh- _huh_.”

 

“God, he just... he attempted last night and I just need to see him for a bit.”

 

Her mother shook her head and laughed. She's quiet for a moment before looking back at her. “You're _still_ talking to him?”

 

Jane’s brows pull downwards in annoyance. “What?”

 

Her mother nearly slammed down the metal spoon she had held then, making Jane jump. Her jaw was tense, but an amused smirk played on her lips. She looked over at her daughter as though she were a joke. Cruel amusement lit her eyes. “Are you really _still_ talking to him? After this big fuckin mess, you still have something for him?”

 

“Christ, Jill. I don't have a thing for him.” Jane groaned. “Can't I just care about someone or be worried for them without having a thing for them?”

 

“Not for someone you fooled around with, Jane Bell.” Her mother snorts and turns back to the stove. “Look, grab my phone and call his mother. See what they're doing. I don't care. If you go anywhere, take Jaime with you.”

 

Jane frowned. “Okay.” She replied flatly. “Fine.” She soon balances Jaime in one arm, going over to grab her mother’s phone. When she tries to open it, a 6 digit pin code is requested. Fuck.

 

“Hey, what’s your passcode?”

 

Her mother won't look back at her. “You _know_ my passcode.”

 

Jane pressed her lips into a fine line and then sighed. Well, time for the guessing game.

 

First- Jane’s birthday.

 

021301.

 

**Incorrect Passcode.**

 

Well, that wasn't surprising.

 

Alright. Next one.

 

Wedding anniversary?

 

101204.

 

**Incorrect Passcode.**

 

**3 more tries left.**

 

Really? Goddamn.

 

She tried to think hard on what date could possibly catch her interest.

 

Her own birthday? Nope. Jane’s mother didn't celebrate her own birthday. Which was... Weird.

 

Christ.

 

Alright...

 

Jane then looks down at Jaime, the little one making small raspberries with her spit. Jane’s face softened. Maybe...?

 

070516.

 

**Incorrect Password.**

 

Well, it was worth a try.

 

There's only one date Jane could think of that would catch her mother’s eye. She tries to bring it to memory without bringing up a buried emotional turmoil.

 

Let's try this.

 

The news report on it all blares in the back of her mind.

 

_A double suicide in the woods. Two children are found dead in the woods, leaving behind destroyed families and a destroyed community._

 

062316.

 

It unlocks.

 

_Tonight, on June 23rd, 2016, this small North Carolina town asks themselves one thing._

 

Jane feels... sick. Really sick.

 

_What could they have done to prevent this tragedy?_

 

She doesn't blame her mother for saving this date, she really doesn't. But...

 

God.

 

She tries to shake the feeling off for now.

 

Jane scrolls through her mother’s contacts, looking around for Cheryl’s. She's always surprised at how many numbers are saved here. Her mother was never good at letting people go, even after they were _long_ gone. She was the same way sometimes

 

“Jane Bell, make it quick. Your father’s going to be calling me soon-- so I’ll need it then.”

 

“You mean Jack, or _my_ dad?” Jane muttered as she find Cheryl Braumann’s in a deeper set of many other Cheryls. Christ, how many Cheryls did her mother know?

 

“Jane, do _not_ fuckin start right now.” Her mother hissed out a low warning out, finally sparing Jane a heated glare. “Jack is doing more for this family than... _He_ ever did.” She shook her head. “Jack is a good man. Besides, he’s actually been here for us unlike-”

 

“Him. Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me twice.”

 

Jane hated it when her mother got defensive over the Step-Douche. Jane had her reasons to hate that fuck, and her mother loved to completely ignore it and throw it to the side like it was nothing.

 

Jane wondered if her mother loved her husband more than she loved her own daughters. She wouldn't be surprised about that.

 

She quickly dialed and called Cheryl’s number to try and push _those_ thoughts out now. It rang twice before she answered.

 

“Hello?”

 

An overwash of anxiety hits Jane. “Hey, Cheryl, uh...” Jane bit her lip.“This is Jane Bell. Y’know uh.... Jill Byrde’s daughter.” She started to pace around the kitchen as she spoke.

 

“R-Right.” Cheryl was unusually soft spoken. Her husband was worse, and Jane sometimes thought the poor man was mute. It was... weird.  “What’s up Jane? Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I uh...” Jane inhaled slowly. “Look, I... I heard about Luke.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“And I’m just... I’m sorry this is happening again, I really am.” Jane closed her eyes. “But... I was wondering if he would be alright with a visit... Maybe tonight or tomorrow...?”

 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” There was a small pause, a muffled conversation going on behind the scenes. Jane was tense for the longest moment. Then, she came back. “Alright, uh, Jane? Would you be okay with doing it now?”

 

“Yeah, that’d actually be ideal.”

 

“Alright.” Another small pause. “Will you also be okay with Ezra picking you up?”

 

Luke’s beefcake dad picking her up? Uh. Jane looked down nervously.

 

“That’s... fine. Is uh.. Is Like uh... good to see Jaime too? She’s kind of glued to me right now.”

 

Another pause.

 

“Luke’s alright with it. Ezra’ll be there in a few minutes to pick you up.”

 

Jane nodded. “Thanks.”

 

“No problem, Jane.” There was a slight lift to Cheryl’s voice that implied a smile. Jane hoped that was it. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

 

“Sounds good.” Jane answers awkwardly, and she quickly hangs up. Her chest deflates in a low sigh. God, she wasn’t a people person sometimes. Interaction was weird with her. Maybe she was just some introvert. A kid who couldn’t handle company too well without getting tired by it. Only time she could ever handle full on interaction without crashing mentally was when she was drunk. That wasn’t too often, though.

 

“Alright. Phone.” Her mother extended her hand over without looking over.

 

Jane sighed, handing it over and nodding. “Alright, Jill.”

 

Her mother looked back at Jane through narrowed eyes. “Jane, I would watch it if I were you.” She snatched the phone from Jane. “That attitude issue of yours is doing you no good. It ain’t cute at all.”

 

 _Attitude issue_ ? Jane was a little shocked. _She had an attitude issue, but her mother didn't? Ha._ “Well, I try not to be cute.” She shook her head as she went over to Jaime’s car seat.

 

“If I hear you and the kid are embarrassing me, you know what'll happen.” She went back to aggressively stirring up whatever she was stirring. “I don't have time or energy to constantly deal with your teen bullshit, Jane.”

 

“Whatever.” Jane mutters under her breath. She straps Jaime into her seat, grabbing the little one’s diaper back besides her. Louder, she hissed. “We’ll wait outside.”

 

Her mother doesn't reply, and Jane grits her teeth. She always acted like this. Like Jane’s existence was inherently a nuisance, or a burden of some sort that needed to just be put up with.

 

As always, she shoves the thought to the back of her mind and tries not to revisit it again.

 

Jane grabs her jacket from the hanger, setting Jaime down to slip it on. After, she hurries out with Jaime to stand outside. Luckily, they don’t stay out there for long.

 

Luke’s father pulls up in his old red pick up truck, the engine making a funny sound as it came to a stop. Or, at least, she assumed it was the engine. She didn’t know too much about cars or trucks, though it was something her actual father professed in quite well. She never could catch his time long enough to learn it all.

 

Ezra smiles as Jane hops in. It’s one of those wide grins that go from ear to ear and makes his eyes shine like lights. Jane’s noticed, if she told him the right joke at the right time during their cigarette escapades underneath the football field bleachers, that Luke smiles the exact same way. On Luke, it’s cute. On Ezra? It creeps her out a little.

 

“It’s good seeing you again, Jane.” He turns his head to spot the little one she’s carrying. “And _hello_ , little Jaime.” He smiles wide at the baby and laughs. “She’s getting big so quick.”

 

“Yeah, she is.” She’s curt, and awkward. It sucks. “You were... quick... Isn’t the Hospital way out towards the next town over?”

 

He snorts and nods. “You just happened to be lucky enough to catch me while I was in the neighborhood.” He started his truck out back onto the road once they were all set. “Lucas wanted soup. Chicken noodle, the way I make it.” He’s careful down the wet roads, hands careful on the steering wheel. “He isn’t too keen on the broth they’re offering him and the doctor said he can have _some_.” He laughs and then sighs. “My boy is quite the handful, making me drive twenty minutes out here just to make him chicken noodle soup.”

 

“Sounds like Luke.” Jane watched the road. The sun was setting quick, and the road steadily grew darker. Harder to see. Ezra turns on his headlights.

 

Ezra had a light to him whenever he spoke about Luke. A radiance of warmth and affection that felt too hot to get near comfortably. It was even worse when he looked over at his son, Jane noted. After group, he’d pick Luke up. Unlike some parents, he’d actually go into the church group was held at to talk with Dr. Everett and check up on any surface progress. Dr. Everett couldn’t tell him the real details, but a “they’re doing well” to the parents seemed to suffice. Jane could always tell when the news was good. He’d grin over at his boy, sigh, and glow with a sort of pride that Jane had never seen in her own mother. It was weird.

 

“He also asked me to get his blankie.”

 

Jane almost chokes on her own spit. “ _Blankie_?” She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. It was odd trying to imagine a guy like Luke still dragging around a baby blanket.

 

Ezra let out a soft chuckle. “His favorite one. The beach one.” He tilts his head softly. “He’s had it since he was born. Almost never parts from it at night.”

 

“16 years of a blanket.” Jane sounds both stuck in disbelief and a sort of comical humor.

 

“Almost 17 years! Can you believe it?”

 

“17?”

 

“17.” Ezra echoes. “His birthday is in December. I can’t believe my little man is growing up so fast...”

 

Jane sometime forgets how old Luke is. It’s not that he was immature, no. There was an underlying anxiety that came with knowing he was almost _too_ old for what had occurred last year. Then again, when it had happened, he was just a number above her. And drunk. So drunk he could hardly do shit right, but sober enough to manage himself to a degree of understanding consent. Understanding boundaries that most men would love to cross with a drunk, high, and sad 14 year old girl.

 

Luke wasn’t exactly a man then. God, he was hardly a man now.

 

Ezra looked over at Jane for a moment. “How’s Jaime been since we last saw her?”

 

“Nothing’s changed in the past 24 hours.” Jane smirked adjusted the carseat in her lap.

 

He nodded. “I figured. She’s such a quiet baby. Is she normally this quiet?”

 

Jane nodded and Ezra whistled.

  
“I wish my boy had been this quiet as a baby. Maybe I wouldn’t have this many grey hairs on my head.” He cracks another laugh. “I joke. I joke. But, really, you’re lucky to have quite the quiet little one. First time mothers like you hardly get that luck.”

 

Jane feels a cold chill run down her neck and she closes her eyes. She’s glad the truck is dark. She’s glad that Ezra can’t see her shaking slightly as she holds the car seat close. She wishes being called a mother didn’t hit her as hard as it did here.

 

It was unavoidable, though. The truth. An obvious truth she’d love to ignore. Being pregnant at 14 and giving birth at 15 was nearly traumatic in itself, and she’d like to forget about it. Jane thought that was the worst of it. Her ruined social reputation was the worst. Getting hit on by older scumbags at school who heard she was _easy_ because she was knocked up this age was the worst. Watching Luke continue to strive in life-- fucking every girl in town without repercussion-- while she was stuck living with the consequences of a single mistake she couldn't even _remember_. That was the worst.

 

“J-Jane?”

 

She tenses up and looks over. They're driving still, windshield wipers on. It's raining again.

 

“Oh, darn, did I...” Ezra bites his lips. “Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, Jane.”

 

It takes Jane a moment to realize what's going on. She touches her cheek, hissing out a curse when she feels the wet tear trail. Fuck. She was crying. God. She quickly wiped them away, sighing.

 

“No, I'm fine.” She muttered out gently. “I'm alright, I just...” She inhaled softly. “I don't like being called the... uh...”

 

“ _The M word._ ” Ezra’s eyes widen and he curses in a language Jane doesn't know. “I am so sorry, Jane. It completely slipped my mind.”

 

“No, it's fine.” Jane stares back at the road. They're both silent as the car ride goes on. After a while, the quiet becomes unbearable. “Ezra.”

 

“Yes, Jane?”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure. Go ahead.”

 

Jane sucks in a soft breath. She closed her eyes tight.

 

_“Jaime Byrde was a sweet girl. So wise, so wonderful.” The director recounts his story with Jane’s dead sister over the entire vigil. “She had a bright future ahead of her. A passion in her eyes. It's... horrendous to see such a young light snuffed out so soon.”_

 

_The campers from the summer camp the two kids attended are all there. The senior counselors are all there. Training counselors. Almost everyone in town was attending the vigil._

 

_“Kenneth Jr. Lewis-”_

 

_A man’s cry erupts from the front of the vigil._

 

_“-Was a good boy. Full of life and light. Saw the world in which many of us couldn't. He was a friend of many campers, and a fellow student of the Elementary school. To know a child this young contemplated and took his own life over something that occurred in this town? It’s terrifying. It's horrific”_

 

_A mournful hush falls in the group._

 

_“We must change society. We must make this town, this community, into a place where kids like Jaime and Kenneth could live in peace and happiness. This is a dark day in our town.”_

 

_Everyone cries._

 

_Jane looks over at the campers._

 

_She soon started to notice that there are two people from there missing at the vigil._

 

“Does Luke remember anything?” She looks over at him. “Anything from June?”

 

Ezra grimaces. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Hasn't he talked to you?”

 

“No...” Ezra shook his head. “Luke hardly ever talks about what had happened. I...” His voice trails off sadly.

 

Jane offers him a surprised look. What really had happened?

 

Ezra nodded. “I think his mind is just... trying to protect him, you know? No one knows how bad it was. No one knows what happened. But he's... trying.”

 

Jane nodded.

 

The car soon pulls up into the hospital parking lot. Silence fills the air for a moment. “Jane.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you can,” he started. “... _please_ do not ask him about June.” He looks out into the dark area around the car. The hospital was bright in the night storm. “He's struggling as is with this... attempt. If he remembers anything... it should be on his own term when he feels like talking about it.”

 

Jane looks over and then to Jaime. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Thank you.”

  


* * *

 

  


In the hospital, a frustrated cry echoes down the hall.

 

“ _I-I don't know! F-Fuck! I don't remember what happened!_ ”

 

“ _You and that girl are the sole survivors from that event, kid. You gotta remember, or whoever did this is going free.”_

 

“ _I. Don't. Know. The news said it was a suicide pact. It was only us four involved._ ”

 

“ _If you don't remember, how do you expect yourself to know that for sure?”_

 

“ _I-I...._ ”

 

“ _Fine. This questioning is over._ ”

 

“ _Just know this. You're walking on thin ice, boy. Remember that._ ”

 

The door slams shut and the boy cries by himself.

 

Survivor's Guilt was quite the killer, wasn't it?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! No big Chapter notes this time. Have a nice day!


	4. iv: Aftermath I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, he did somewhat mean to do this. He didn't mean to hurt everyone he cared for, surely not. But... escaping from his life? From everything that was plaguing him? He meant to do that.”

IV: Aftermath I  
  


* * *

 

 

_“Well, he did somewhat mean to do this. He didn't mean to hurt everyone he cared for, surely not. But... escaping from his life? From everything that was plaguing him? He meant to do that.”_

 

* * *

_{IV}_

* * *

  
  


_There were four of them deep in the woods._

 

_BANG._

 

_And then there were three._

 

_BANG._

 

_And now there were only two of them left._

* * *

_..._

* * *

 

His mind is shattered. Glass that was once cracked beyond repair, now finally broken and thrown about into every place he's ever been to. Sharp memories and bits of him scattered finely about his home, this town, and deep somewhere into the woods. There isn't much he can do to collect them back; pieces too many too small to sweep up without missing a piece, stepping on it, and cutting yourself.

 

Luke is broken, and there is no way to repair him without patience, a fine hand, and extra care. Which, unfortunately, he lacks all three of now.

 

But-- if he goes back far enough in what shards he _does_ have on who he was-- Luke can remember a time where patience, a fine hand, and extra care was something he did have available. It came in the form of his parents, warm and loving. Which wasn't to say that they weren't warm and loving now. But... asking for them to help him now was too much.

 

At this point, he knows he cannot rely on people to help him in this process-- at least he _thinks_ he can't. There's only so much patience a person can spare. A fine hand will get sick of him and leave him half built. And no one is willing to be gentle with a man like him.

 

In short, Luke was fucked beyond belief.

 

He laid in the hospital bed, curled into the slightly warmed blankets as he struggled to fully fill his tired lungs. The oxygen he was receiving through the nasal cannula was a blessing for sure. His body was heavy, head stuffed with cotton, and his mouth tasted like saline from the IV drip. The police had came and left a while ago, and he cried for some time. As of now, He wasn't sure what he felt.

 

The clock on his monitor clicked 11:30 PM.

 

A soft hum fills the air, and someone lightly playing with his wavy brown locks. It turns the rough cotton in his head to something softer and more pleasant. Like drifting in the sky on a cloud, far above the world. It brings him back to a time where life was worth living, and everyday was warm and sweet. Vague flickers of a summer fire, the soft fur of an old dog, warm milk on a winter night.

 

His mother lit up old glass memories left hanging on strings in the far back of his mind.

 

“ _Lucas_...” She muses his name like a little song. She’s gentle and tender as her fingers trail down to stroke along his fuzzy jawline. His dark eyes wander to meet her crystalline blue ones. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. So loving and sweet. It's makes him feel sad, and he yearns for something he cannot name right then. “You should shave sometime, baby...”

 

“Shave?” He croaks in surprise. “C’mon, Ma... Don’t I look a lil’ cuter with a beard?”

 

“A _little_.” His mother laughs softly, like wind chimes on a light breeze. “But, you look scruffy.”

 

“I feel scruffy.” He manages to weakly smile as leans into his mother's warm hand. It's soft, and gentle; putting his mind at near total ease.

 

“My scruffy boy..” She cooed softly. Her hand went back to stroke his hair. “You look so old...”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Ma.” He groaned and then tossed her a glazed amused glance.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Baby.” His mother purses her lips. “I mean... you don't look like my little boy anymore.” Her voice is wistful now. Far off, and wondering. She did this a lot. Says things while she was still buried deep in her thoughts. Reminiscing. “You're just so... grown up.”

 

His eyelid lower halfway. “Grown up?” It made him a little... uneasy.

 

“Yeah...” She leans her lips in to place a soft kiss on his forehead, and soon she's standing up again. “Alright, I’m gonna go check on Jane Bell, okay? Your father offered to help change diapers, but you _know_ him.” She grins and chuckles. “He’s just the slightest bit rusty.”

 

Shit. Jane was still here with the baby? In his haze, he'd figured they'd left by now. How long had they been here?

 

“Oh, that can't be good..” He mumbled, letting his being drift.

 

“Right.” She peeked back at him as she stood at the door. “Don't cause any trouble while I'm gone, okay buttercup?”

 

He stretched out lazily along the stiff bed. “No promises, Ma.”

 

She handed him a half amused look, smiling over before she left. When the doors clicked shut, he felt a heavy darkness tug at him. Here it was. The depression, the ugliness, the awfulness that had made its home in his head.

 

He shut his eyes tight. This happened all the time. When the loneliness spread through him like a disease and edged him close to a restless existence. It's half the reason why he's so keen on wild house parties and having sex with random girls until he blacked out. At least at a party, drunk out of his mind and warmed from the MDMA spiked drinks, he doesn't feel _that_ lonely and unsatisfied with his life.

 

But, there's always things missing. He’s never been one for commitment, relationship wise. He tried it, once or twice, but it always went up in flames. Even now, he was recovering from a shitty breakup that ended because of his own stupid mistakes. Eventually he made the decision to just... settle with one night stands wherever he could get it.

 

Part of him still yearns for something better than that, though.

 

He and Jane used to talk about relationships sometime back, underneath the football field bleachers and during their unhealthy smoke breaks. Back when his partying days began to dwindle and he tried to spend more time with Jane now that she was having his kid.

 

She didn't seem to have an opinion on it, really. She says she's never _seriously_ dated anyone, and Luke was really the only person she'd ever slept with before. Which made him feel bad. Her first time and she didn't really remember it, not that he remembered that night either. To make matters worse, he’d gotten her pregnant on her first time.

 

Which was, uh, bad. Real bad.

 

He remembers asking her if she would ever want someone special in her life. Someone that carried a light with them, metaphorically, and cut through the darkness of their lives. And he remembers Jane shrugging and saying “I already have someone kind of like that”.

 

He still wonders what she meant by that.

 

The door opens and pulls him from thought.

 

It’s his mother, returning with the other two trailing behind her. Well, _three_. He lets his head relax to the side as he watches them come in.

 

Behind his mother’s tall figure is Jane. She's tiny in his mother’s shadow, just a little shorter than himself, and has a resting bitch face that could kill. Her hair is messy, a little longer than it was when he last _really_ saw her, but still short. He hadn't realized how shaggy it'd gotten since he helped her shave it down completely in May.

 

In her arms is the little one, chirping to herself like a little bird. It came in peeps and purrs, and happy hums. He let himself smile at the sight. He didn't get a good enough look at her yesterday, not before he spiraled downwards. He's never really gotten a good enough look at her. He's never really _seen_ her since she was born. Granted, that was only over a month ago, but still.

 

God. Luke knows that landing Jane with a baby this young and offering nothing-- not even emotional support-- was a plain dick move. Jane... god, she deserved so much better than this outcome.

 

Luke’s father is right behind Jane, wearing a shirt that Luke doesn't remember him wearing before. A black T-shirt. Luke narrows his eyes in confusion. Was... was he wearing that before? His eyes are a lit with an unnerved Energy. Fuck.

 

It was the small details that got him like this. Doubting and questioning his rationality. It was a minuscule part, not important, but it still... _bugged_ him bad.

 

His father must've noticed the look, because he opens his mouth quick to explain.

 

“The little one sort of peed on me, ah...” He quickly mutters as he makes his way to the other side of the bed, right by the monitors.

 

“What?” That calms the wasp nest in the back of his head, he's smiling a little in disbelief. “The kid pissed on you? Really?”

 

“You should have seen it, Luke.” Jane smirked. “Jaime pissed _all_ over your dad, it was amazing.”

 

His smile fades.

 

 _Jaime_.

 

A gunshot only he can hear rings out and he flinches hard. He looked around quickly, only to find that everyone’s attention is on him. Did they not-?

 

Wait.

 

Oh no.

 

“...Hey-- Jesus, dude-- are you okay?” Jane looks him up and down. He’s tense, shaky now.

 

“M’okay.” He tries to force himself to relax, jaw clenched and body shaky. The name lights up bad places in his head. There are bits and pieces of muddled and clipped images and frames, like a ruined VHS tape.

 

Through the blurry images of murky water-- bubbles from his released scream rushing through to the surface-- and the scent of a fired gun, Luke can only remember so much of the events of June. Bits and pieces he cannot bring back, muffled as though he were trapped in a dense winter storm.

 

“Luke?”

 

_Before he knows it, Luke is laying in a different hospital bed. He feels like he is drowning still, head shoved underneath the surface of a lukewarm lake._

 

_A fist was clenched around his throat so tight that it bruised. It’s not there anymore. He doesn’t know for sure if it ever was._

 

_She's screaming, the other survivor. He doesn't know her name exactly during the flashback, only after it he knows. There's a physical struggle across the ER, behind the curtains where she's placed in , and the people there try to calm her. She doesn’t seem to be having any of it._

 

_“DON'T TOUCH ME! DADDY, PLEASE, HELP ME!”_

 

_It’s the last words she will ever verbally speak. They sedate her, and her voice dies down to drugged up whimpers._

 

“Dude, shit, I’m so sorry.”

 

Jane pulls him back to reality. There's realization in her face, and a deepened sadness in her eyes. She understood the pain.

 

“It’s fine, Jane.” Luke doesn’t need further press on it. He inhales shakily and exhale. “I’m fine. I’ll... be fine.”

 

Luke had trigger words, usually names and lesser specific terms. _Jaime_ was around the top of the list of words not to say around him.

 

It was unfortunate that their daughter had to be named that, but he knows it’s a name Jane values highly. He couldn’t argue or speak on it.

 

Luke’s parent’s look at him with wide, anxious eyes.

 

“Baby?” His mother gently touches his shoulder. He’s tense for a second and then he relaxes. The memories fade just as soon as they come. “Did you...?”

 

He inhales deeply. “Y-Yeah.” He closed his eyes.

 

“Did he, what?” Luke’s father asks softly. He looks nervously between the two of them. “What happened?”

 

Luke grimaces but reluctantly opts to explain.

 

“I... Had a flashback.”

 

The room is quiet, and there’s some sort of ancient fear in his father’s eyes. He exhales shakily, looking away as he paled over. Luke opens his mouth to speak, to try to explain, but Jane interjects.

 

“Y-You had a flashback?” Her eyes were wide. “Was it of what happened in June?”

 

And he flinches hard then, like someone had raised their hand at him. “N-Not of the... e- _event_...” Luke stammers out. “It was a m-memory of the hospital. Back when we came in right after it all happened.”

 

“Oh...” Jane seems almost disappointed. She sits back in the chair, looking away.

 

Luke feels bad, god he does. Jane was searching for answers to this mess just like everyone in this damaged town, and Luke just couldn’t provide it. The guilt of having lived from that shit is heavy, sure, but being unable to give the people what they needed was far worse.

 

The police officers, the parents, the kids, the community.

 

They all wanted to know what happened to their kids, and Luke didn’t know. He should know. But he doesn’t.

 

And the other survivor was just as clueless as he was, he figured. It was hard to tell, given she didn’t talk at all anymore. Her throat had been nearly slit that night, though it wasn’t enough to damage her vocal cords. People say the damage was far more psychological than physical. Sarah was mute to everyone except her father, and unresponsive to anyone outside of her inner circle.

 

Most if not all of the town was outside of her inner circle, including Luke.

 

Luke’s father still looked between the two of them in surprise. The initial fear and paleness had left him, and only shock remained. “How long have you had them, Luke?”

 

“I...” Luke swallows hard. “I-I uh... A while.”

 

There’s another spark of sadness in his father’s eyes. “Ah.” He nodded. He wouldn’t press now, but Luke knew he’d get the sad talk later. _Why didn’t you tell me_?

 

The room began to ease after another few moments, silence filling the air.

 

Jane coughs.

 

“But.. Uh...” She looked away. “Yeah, the kid can piss far. Like-- _really_ far.” She then looks pointedly at him. “Think she gets it from you.”

 

Luke looks over incredulously. “ _Me_? Why me?”

 

“Well-- I mean-- I’m just assuming you’re a long shot when it comes to piss.”

 

Luke’s mother suppressed a snort, covering her mouth a looking away guiltily.

 

The air lightened temporarily.

 

“ _Ma_.”

 

“I’m not laughing at you, Lucas, I promise.” She chuckled. “You two are just a handful and a half, huh?”

 

Jane smirked smugly and looked at Luke.  

 

Luke groaned. “Why’re we havin’ this conversation anyways? I don’t wanna talk about my pissin’ habits.”

 

“What’d you rather talk about, baby?” His mother smiled over at him.

 

Luke laid back. “Anythin’ other than piss, please.”

 

“Actually uh..” Jane looked him over again, sucking in a slow breath. “Can I uh... Ask you something?”

 

And here came the dense shroud of darkness.

 

Luke tenses slightly. “Sure, uh, fire away?”

 

Jane closes her eyes and shifts Jaime in her arms. The little one has fallen asleep, pressed close to her chest.   


“I... Why’d you do it?”

 

The big question that everyone is dying to know. Why’d he do it? Why’d he try to take his life yet again?

 

Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time?

 

“I...” He looked away. “I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?” There’s a mixture of disbelief and saddened numbness to her voice. Luke shakes his head and she presses her lips back together. “I... That’s fine.”

 

“I’m sorry, Jane.” He looks over at her with glassy eyes. “I know this shit hits home for you--  I-- I didn’t mean to do this to you guys again.”

 

Well, he did somewhat mean to do this. He didn't mean to hurt everyone he cared for, surely not. But... escaping from his life? From everything that was plaguing him? He meant to do that.

 

Jane offers a weak nod and closes her eyes slightly. “That’s fine.” She stresses. “That’s alright.”

 

The room is quiet again.

 

Jane tries to break through tense silence once more. There's a small pinch of bitterness to her next, genuine suggestion. “Hey, why don’t you call the knucklehead when you get the chance? He’s been... dying to talk to you, y’know?”

 

“Nick?!” Luke shot straight up in his bed, head spinning from the sudden shift of positions. He looks like he’s gonna faint, or throw up. “Shit, shit. Oh _fuck_. How is he?”

 

Luke’s mom is the one to respond to that. “He visited while you were still asleep, baby.” She gently touched his shoulder, trying to get him to lay back down before he got sick. “He’s doing... alright.” Luke can tell that his mother is sweetening it up so that he doesn’t freak out, but it only makes it worse for him.

 

“Can I call him?”

 

His mother offers him a surprised look. “Baby, Nicholas is probably asleep by now.”

 

“He _never_ sleeps this early.” His mind is like an avalanche now. Tumbling down and picking up speed. His breathing grows quick. “Please. _Please,_ Ma, I _need_ to talk to him.”

 

She opens her mouth and then closes it.

 

“Please, Ma, I... I really need...” Fuck. He’s losing control again. His breathing is quick and his eyes are shut tight.

 

“O-Okay, Lucas, I’ll go ask.” Her eyes are wide with worry and her voice cracks slightly. His mother got up then and Jane trailed behind quietly as though anticipating the worst, both slipping out the door.

 

That’s when it really hits him. The severity of the last 24 hours.

 

He’s fucked up bad _again_.

 

He’s hurt everyone he cares about _again_.

 

He’s hurt Nick _again_..

 

Just like the halloween party. Just like December. Just like... Just like...

 

“L-Lucas.” His father comes near him, gently extending a hand before freezing. He opens his mouth and closes it. He has no idea what to do, and that look of frightened helplessness washes over his face.

 

Luke feels like he’s going to fall into another abyss of darkness and fear and panic and...

 

And...

 

... And...

 

...

 

A hand is offered to him for him to grab onto before he falls any further.

 

It gently runs through his hair, and the storm in his mind begins to lose power. He’s taken back to a stormy winter night, bedridden with the flu. He feels like a fussy, feverish child again. Head pressed into his father’s hand, whimpering and stirring through the chills. A soft hum fills his mind, comforting the miserable 5 year old that lived inside of him still. In the present, Luke allows himself to lean into his father’s large palm with a trembling noise.

 

“Breathe, okay?” His father says with a sort of assurance. “Deep breaths.”

 

He tries to, though with some difficulty. He wheezes and claws at his chest through his gown, but eventually he calms on his own.

 

There’s a brief silence before his father sighs. “Lucas, talk to me...” He urges softly, eyes gazing down at his only child with a painful plead to it. “I... I want to help. Or... At least listen.”

 

Luke’s lips curled into a deep frown, both quivering slightly.

 

It’s not long before the dam breaks.

 

“‘M sorry, Pa.” His voice is almost inaudible, and before he knows it he’s crying. It’s like a wolf pup’s cry, shrill and trembling. He hates himself beyond reason and belief.

 

His father’s eyes go wide at the sudden cries, both soon softening. “ _Oh_ , _Motek_ ...” He breaths sadly, leaning over to gently hug him. His son’s sobs shake him to the core. “ _Lucas... Shhh...”_ He rocks him slightly. “ _It’s okay... It’s okay.._.”

 

Constantly pulling this act on everyone wasn't okay.

 

God, it wasn't.

 

“No one is mad, or blames you, or...” His voice trails off as Luke’s cries calm.

 

“That’s a lie... I... god, I know Jane’s pissed, Nick is probably hurt, and I know he’ll hate me for doin’ this shit again to him. I-I hurt you and M-Ma.” He sniffles. “God, aren’t _you_ mad?”

 

His father stiffens. After a moment, he pulls away from Luke, looking at his son with gentle dark eyes. He's quiet, searching, and Luke’s scared his father will say something that'll hurt him worse than the last few months have.

 

“ _Motek..._ ” He starts. “ _I_ am not mad. And _I_ don't blame you.” He says it with an undertone of certainty. He wasn't lying. “I am... sad. Very sad. You are my son. My light. To see you hurt this bad that you would do... _this_..?” He closes his eyes. “Lucas, I am not mad. I am... hurt. Saddened. But I am not mad. I could never be mad.”

 

Luke sighs and relaxes.

 

“O-Okay... alright..”

* * *

_{IV}_

* * *

 

 

Nick doesn't answer the call Luke makes to him. Luke isn't... surprised _._ He’s scared though. God, he is. He knows there's the huge possibility that he could lose his old friend over this. He could lose one of his only real friends here. For now... he tries not to think on it.

 

Sometime after recovering from his outcry, and learning that Nick didn't answer, Jane let's Luke hold Jaime. It's weird, and... overwhelming. His arms are still weak and noodle-like so he only manages to cradle her for a few moments.

 

She's so small, and she has Luke’s dad’s eyes. Which was to say, she had _his_ eyes. Dark, almost black, but in the right light it was probably a chocolatey brown. Warm.

 

Jane says she sees a lot of him in Jaime, and he can only laugh, because he sees so much of Jane in her. He wonders if that’s what all parents think of when they see their kid. Who did the child look more like? And to one, the child probably looked more like the other.

 

Eventually, they have to leave. They've been out far longer than anyone should responsibly let a teen and their kid out. Midnight. Christ.

 

Luke gets to gently kiss little Jaime goodbye, and Jane has a weird look on her face. He isn’t sure why, or what it means. He thinks he detects a hint of longing there, and it worries him.

 

Right before she leaves, she tells him to stop doing stupid shit like this and she says it with a half genuine smile. And he promises meekly that he won't. He knows it’s not something he can’t promise, but... they needed some form of reassurance. Everyone did.

 

He finishes off the now chilled soup that his father had brought, and eventually even they have to leave.

 

The hospital overnight is filled with an ambience of machine beeps and humming that makes his eyelids heavy but his soul uneasy.

 

Sleep pulls him down.

 

The night goes on.

 

...

..

.

 

His old friend visits the next afternoon, and with him he brings a light that cuts through the darkness of Luke’s broken mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Life has kind of caught me by the neck, but we've managed to bust out this next chapter! What'd you think on it?  
> Now, there's not that many notes for this chapter asides for a few updates.   
> ITW has a blog! ( @goneintothewoods on Tumblr). It's currently up and running, take a look! The about page, character page (updated with each new chapter), and any posts in regards to the story will be held there! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!


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